


It's In His Kiss

by MandalaRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And oh yeah the author knows nothing about hockey, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Castiel Has a Crush, Closeted Castiel (Supernatural), Closeted Dean Winchester, Coming Out, Dean Winchester Has a Crush, Fluff and Smut, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Dean Winchester, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Ice Hockey Player Castiel (Supernatural), Ice Hockey Player Dean Winchester, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sort Of, it's brief though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 20:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalaRose/pseuds/MandalaRose
Summary: “Dean,” Cas says, straightening from his position against the wall.  “I’m sorry if that kiss made you uncomfortable earlier.  That wasn’t my intention.”Direct and to the point, that’s Cas.  It’s a trait Dean usually appreciates, he likes knowing where he stands with the man, but right now it’s making him decidedly uneasy.  Cas is right of course, the kiss did make Dean uncomfortable, just not for the reasons the other hockey player thinks.  As per usual, Dean covers his discomfort with bravado and sass.“Nah, I wasn’t uncomfortable,” he lies.  “Besides, you call that little peck a kiss?  I hate to break it to you buddy, but Edith the octogenarian kissed better than that.”Cas looks momentarily annoyed with Dean’s obvious deflection, but then his expression clears and he steps into Dean’s space before cocking his head and narrowing his eyes, “Are you criticizing my kissing abilities, Dean?”Popular hockey player, Dean Winchester, has a habit of finding himself on the arena's Kiss Cam during games, usually while standing next to a devoted fan.  But what'll happen when the person next to him ends up being his teammate, best friend, and secret crush, Cas Krushnic?





	It's In His Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> My whole family's been down with the flu this week, so I decided to post a get-well present for myself. This was SUPPOSED to be some good old-fashioned, straightforward Porn Without Plot, but it turns out fevers make me mushy and sentimental, so it ended up taking a decided turn for the fluffy instead.
> 
> Let me know if you like it! Kudos and comments are the best medicine!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr now!
> 
> <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/a-mandala-rose>

The first time, Dean figured it was just a one-time thing; a joke from whoever was up in the control room during the Washington Capitals’ first home game of the season.  Dean, center for the Caps and fan-favorite, was headed back to the bullpen following the game’s first intermission when a fan caught his attention.  He’d been prepared to keep walking, but the urgently-waving 20-something stopped him in his tracks.  It wasn’t her blonde hair or long legs that drew him to her, though she was certainly beautiful, but the large poster-board sign she held.  The sign asked for an autograph.. for her sister, who couldn’t attend the game because she was currently in the hospital, battling cancer.  The words were accompanied by a picture of a pale, but beautiful young woman wearing a head scarf and smiling up at him from her hospital bed.  Dean felt a tug at his heart-strings as he made his way over.  He was busy chatting with the young woman, who was currently there using her sister’s season tickets, when someone nudged him and he looked up to see the two of them on Capital One Arena’s Kiss Cam.

Dean had blushed and looked at the young woman apologetically, but as he turned to wave off the cam, she surged to her tiptoes and planted a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.  “For my sister,” she’d said.  And so it had started.

Dean found himself in a similar situation during the team’s second home game the following week.  This time a lovely mother in her 30s had been waving her young son’s Pee-Wee jersey (from last season of course, not his current one), eager to get it autographed by his favorite player.  This time, when the Kiss Cam landed on them, the mother-of-two had blushed, but stuck out her cheek playfully.  A laughing Dean had placed a kiss there before making his way back to the bullpen.

By the third home game, he had musical accompaniment.

_Is it in his eyes, oh no, you’ll be deceived_

_Is it in his eyes, oh no, you’ll make believe_

_If you want to know, if he loves you so_

_It’s in his kiss_

By the fifth game, Dean had taken to roaming the stands at the end of the first intermission. 

And so it went.  At each home game, Dean made himself available before the start of the second period.  Adoring female fans lined the stepped aisles, hoping to be the one the Kiss Cam chose.  And sure, Dean enjoyed the attention (who wouldn’t?), but he also made it a point to hand out as many autographs, kind words, and hugs as possible as he made his rounds.  And more than one fan managed to sneak a kiss to Dean’s cheek, Kiss Cam be damned.  Dean always kissed the fan selected by the great Kiss-Cam-Operator-in-the-Sky, with their permission of course, ending with a saucy wink at the camera.

Dean had kissed women of all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and ages.  His favorite kiss so far was from an 84-year-old great-grandmother.  Edith (13 grandchildren and 28 great-grandchildren, she told Dean proudly), had started watching her late husband play hockey when they were just teenagers.  He’d loved the sport his whole life, and now that he was gone, she found that the games made her feel closer to him.  Tearing up at the touching story, Dean was delighted when the Kiss Cam found them.  He’d been expecting to give the kind old lady a sweet peck on the cheek, but the feisty old gal surprised him by planting one smack on his lips.  Dean had been stunned for a moment, but had roared with laughter when she’d leaned in and whispered in his ear, “What Harold doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Dean thinks today’s lovely lady might give Edith a run for her money, however.  Today, the Kiss Cam had landed on Dean while he was talking with 4-year-old Kayleigh, who wanted an autograph for her Dad.  Kayleigh’s dad was a big fan, but he was currently serving overseas.  He’d brought the little girl to her first ever hockey game shortly before he deployed.  When Dean heard the music and glanced up to see he and Kayleigh on the Kiss Cam, he smiled shyly and asked the tiny girl if he could have a kiss, pointing to his cheek.  Instead, she’d placed one chubby hand on either side of Dean’s surprised face and kissed him lightly on the nose, “because that’s how my Daddy kisses me goodnight.”  Touched and a little smitten, Dean not only signed the Caps hat Kayleigh handed him, but made sure each member of the family received a signed jersey and that Kayleigh got a Washington Capitals teddy bear, autographed by the entire team and hand-delivered by Dean during the second intermission.

Returning dazed and starry-eyed to the bullpen after delivering Kayleigh’s bear and receiving a second nose-kiss from the adorable preschooler, Dean sees Cas, starting left wing for the Caps and one of his closest friends, watching him with a fond look.  That look could have left Dean a little starry-eyed all on its own.  It’s a soft and intimate thing that Dean likes to pretend his gorgeous best friend saves just for him.  It’s certainly not one that spends a lot of time on the intimidating forward’s angular features.

“You always were a sucker for a pretty face,” the other man teases.

Dean rolls his eyes and reaches over to pinch Cas’ cheek before putting on his gloves.  “Of course I am, Krushnic,” he cooes, “Why do you think I put up with you?”

His best friend scowls, “I’m not pretty.”

“That’s for sure,” chortles Benny Lafitte, their teammate and one of the best damn goalies in the NHL.

At Cas’ sour look he goes on, “Ah, don’t worry about it, Cher.  Everyone knows that Dean’s the prettiest princess in the league.”  The Cajun winks at Cas, “I bet his paycheck would be cut in half if he lost a few of those pearly whites to a puck.  That’s why he can’t play goalie.”

“You sayin’ I can’t hold my own on the ice, Benny?  Cause I’m pretty sure I proved that ain’t true when we faced off in practice yesterday,” Dean growls.

“Nah, Brother.  I know you’ve got the skills.  All I’m sayin’ is those fancy endorsements of yours don’t give a rats ass how many goals you score out there, as long as you look like a soap opera star doin’ it.”

“Don’t be jealous, Lafitte!”  Dean calls as they head out onto the ice.  “It’s not an attractive quality.”

“Oh I’m not, Brother, believe me!  It’s too much damn work to be that pretty,” chuckles Benny, as he speeds off toward the Caps’ goal.

“Not when it comes natural, Benny,” Dean counters cheekily, skating a loop around Cas and tossing him a wink as he goes.

“Eyes on the prize, Winchester,” his best friend admonishes with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, Winchester.  Krushnic’s baby blues may be pretty,” teases their right defenseman, Gabe Speight, earning a glare from Cas and a grin from Dean, “but the Stanley Cup is prettier.”

Dean’s not sure he agrees, but he’s smart enough to keep _that_ thought to himself.

“Alright, enough of the gay shit.  We’re here to play hockey.”  Gordon Walker may be a good enough right wing and a hell of skater, but he’s also a giant dick.

“You ever hear of protesting too much, Gordy?” snarks Gabe with an amused shake of his head.

“Fuck you, Speight,” because Walker’s an _original_ giant dick.

“Only if you ask nicely!”  Gabe offers Walker his most scandalous wink before falling back to his starting position.

Dean and Cas glance at one another and exchange matching eye rolls, which prompts twin smiles as the two forwards take their starting positions and assume their game faces.

It’s time to go to work.

***

A week later marks their last home game before they hit the road for a 4 game stretch.  The crowd is amped up tonight, knowing this is their last chance to cheer on their team in person for the next few weeks.  Dean’s pretty pumped up too, after the Caps score 2 goals (one of which was scored by yours truly) in the first period, to the Boston Bruins’ 0.  It’s with even more bounce in his step than usual that Dean bounds up and down the arena steps at the end of the first intermission, chatting with fans, signing autographs, and waiting for his signature Kiss Cam moment.  That bounce starts to falter though when intermission nears its close and the Kiss Cam still hasn’t found its way to Dean.  He waits as long as he can, but eventually has to make his way back to the bullpen, amid the murmurs of disappointed fans.  Dean turns to give them an apologetic shrug before he plops down next to Cas, who looks equally confused.

“Maybe there’s a new Kiss-Cam-Operator?” Cas offers with a shrug.

“Maybe,” Dean returns, and that’s when he hears it.

_Is it in his eyes.._

Oh no.

Slowly, so slowly, he looks up.. and sees himself and one sex-haired left winger staring back down at him from the jumbotron.  Jumbo-Dean looks stunned, but Jumbo-Cas looks, amused?  Suddenly aware of the fact they’re being watched by the _entire goddamn arena,_ Dean manages to paste on a smile.   Frozen in place, he watches his own shocked face on the jumbotron as Cas, the cocky bastard, leans over and plants a big, wet smooch right on Dean’s cheek.  The sly asshole even winks at the camera, just like Dean usually does, while Dean’s blush is broadcast to the entire arena in brilliant technicolor.  A chorus of whistles and catcalls follow them out onto the ice, both from fans and from their own teammates, the goddamn traitorous sharks.

Dean’s honestly surprised he’s able to play at all after that, especially since all he can think about is the feeling of Cas’ dry lips and rough stubble against his cheek (not to mention imagining how that stubble would feel _elsewhere_ on his body).  Why’d it have to be Cas, huh?  It could have been anyone, but it had to be his sexy, blue-eyed best friend, didn’t it?  Fuck, even Walker would have been better.  Well, okay, maybe not _Walker_ , but literally _anyone_ else.  The whole of Capital-Fucking-One Arena just saw Dean blush like a pre-pubescent 12-year-old girl landing a kiss from her secret crush.  Which, Dean thinks bitterly, is pretty much exactly what happened, since Cas Krushnic most assuredly qualifies as Dean’s secret crush.. his big, secret, _gay_ crush that is.. which is definitely _not_ something a professional hockey player is supposed to have.  Fuck Dean’s life.

Despite his internal freak-out, Dean actually manages to play pretty well.  The Caps score 2 more goals in the second period and 1 in the third, for a 5 – 2 victory over the Bruins.  Dean whoops and cheers with his team as they re-enter the locker room after the game, but he’s still feeling out-of-sorts following that kiss and his subsequent regression into adolescent flailing (seriously, Dean could be the main character in a goddamn Judy Blume novel and _no_ , he’s not ashamed that he knows who Judy Blume is, thank you very much.  “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret,” is a goddamn classic) and begs off their plans to celebrate after. 

The last one to leave the locker room, Dean starts in surprise when he sees Cas waiting for him, his sexy frame leaning back against the wall outside the locker room door, duffle bag full of gear at his feet.  Dean takes in the other man.  Cas is a menace with dark, untamable sex-hair, eyes like blue fire, and a strong, angular jawline that _does things_ (very sexy, very explicit things) to Dean’s libido.  Add in the constant 5 o’clock shadow and knowing smirk and well, Dean’s fucked, but sadly, not in the fun way.

“Dean,” Cas says, straightening from his position against the wall.  “I’m sorry if that kiss made you uncomfortable earlier.  That wasn’t my intention.”

Direct and to the point, that’s Cas.  It’s a trait Dean usually appreciates, he likes knowing where he stands with the man, but right now it’s making him decidedly uneasy.  Cas is right of course, the kiss _did_ make Dean uncomfortable, just not for the reasons the other hockey player thinks.  As per usual, Dean covers his discomfort with bravado and sass.

“Nah, I wasn’t uncomfortable,” he lies.  “Besides, you call _that_ little peck a kiss?  I hate to break it to you buddy, but Edith the octogenarian kissed better than that.”

Cas looks momentarily annoyed with Dean’s obvious deflection, but then his expression clears and he steps into Dean’s space before cocking his head and narrowing his eyes, “Are you criticizing my kissing abilities, Dean?” 

Dean’s mouth goes dry. 

“Because I assure you, my kissing skills are rivaled only by my skills on the ice,” Cas’ voice drops half an octave and he moves even closer, his lips almost brushing against Dean’s now, “and in the bedroom, and need I remind you, you’ve _seen_ how I skate.  I’d offer you a demonstration of the kissing as well, but I’m not sure you could handle the full experience.  What do you think, Dean?” 

Quite honestly, Dean’s not sure either, not if the light-headedness he’s feeling or the way his heart is pounding in his chest are any indication, but he gathers his resolve and forces out a breathless whisper against Cas’ lips.

“I think I could sure as hell try.”

Dean has half a second to see Cas’ blue eyes widen in response and then he’s lost in the press of the other man’s mouth against his, open and hungry.  And _shit_ , Cas wasn’t joking when he compared his kissing skills to his hockey skills.  Even if Dean had never played a game of hockey with Cas in his life, if asked to guess which position Cas played based on this kiss alone, Dean would know he’s a forward.  Cas immediately goes on the offensive, swiping his tongue along Dean’s lips and then licking into his mouth with bold, decisive strokes and Dean hears his down duffle drop to the ground with a dull thud.  He’s as aggressive now as Dean’s ever seen him on the ice, crowding into Dean’s space and hooking a hand around the taller man’s neck to pin him in place, not that Dean would dream of moving away at this point. 

The kiss is fierce, and biting, and a little desperate.  After a long moment, Cas breaks away, inhaling raggedly and glancing around them before pushing Dean backward until they reach the locker room door.  One hand fisted in Dean’s t-shirt, Cas pulls the door open with the other and shoves Dean inside the deserted locker room.  As soon as the door swings shut, Cas in on him again.  Hands on Dean’s hips, he presses the center up against the lockers and resumes his current mission to invade, conquer, and fucking colonize Dean’s mouth.  The left winger owns Dean’s mouth the same way he owns his side of the ice.  More than one opposing defenseman has regretted his choice to try and prevent Castiel Krushnic from taking what is _his_.  Far be it from Dean to make the same mistake.  He surrenders to Cas’ onslaught, inviting the man in and answering in kind, his tongue pressing back against Cas’, not in contest, but in concert.

Eventually, Cas slows the kiss, each visit of his tongue a little less deep, a little less intense, until he ends the kiss with, one, two, three gentle presses of his closed lips.  He doesn’t move away though, leaning his forehead against Dean’s and taking a shuddering breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he says roughly, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Dean blinks in stunned silence for a moment, still pressed against the lockers.  His hands, gripped like vices around Cas’ biceps, are pretty much the only things holding him up, since his traitorous knees gave out several minutes ago.  He’s actually slid down the lockers part way, so he’s looking up at the man who’s usually a couple inches shorter than Dean. 

“What.  The fuck.  Are you apologizing for?”  Dean demands breathlessly.  The sudden sweetness of the closed-mouth kisses following what has to be the _hottest_ lip action of Dean’s ever-loving life has left him a little light-headed, or maybe that’s just oxygen deprivation.

“That was not how I imagined our first kiss,” admits Cas, and Dean’s brain short circuits.  Their _first_ kiss.  As in, the first of many.  Not as in, the one-time-only mistake I made with my former-friend/teammate. 

“How did you imagine it?” he asks hoarsely and sees Castiel Krushnic, professional hockey player and all-around badass, blush for the first time ever.  Dean is mesmerized. 

“More.. romantic, I suppose.  Softer.  Less desperation and smelly locker room _.”_ Dean takes just a moment to appreciate the other man’s grumpy expression before surging up to kiss him again.

This kiss isn’t as fierce or hungry as their last though.  Dean controls this kiss and it’s slow, and deep, and luxurious.  He starts out firm, but gentle, teasing at the seam of Cas’ lips with his tongue until the other man lets him in, then stands to his full height and uses the new angle to slowly deepen the kiss.  He brings a hand up to softly cup Cas’ cheek, snaking his other arm around the man’s waist and pulling him in until they’re pressed flush together.  The dip of Dean’s tongue into Cas’ mouth is more exploratory than invading and Cas explores Dean’s mouth in turn.  His movements seem almost nervous now that he’s not lost to his apparently long-pent-up desire.  It’s perfect and Dean loves every second, but he has to admit, seeing Cas lose control like that earlier, because of _Dean_ , that was pretty goddamn awesome too.

After several long minutes, Dean pulls back and, running a gentle thumb over Cas’ kiss swollen lips, whispers, “Like that?”

“Exactly like that,” comes Cas’ breathless reply.

“Just for the record,” Dean says with a smirk, “I was a pretty big fan of your way too.”

“Yeah?” Cas asks with a shy smile.  And since when is Castiel Krushnic, the unstoppable left wing known equally for his aggressive speed and his icy stare, shy?

“Fuck, yeah.”  Dean takes a breath before adding, “Kind of a big fan of yours all the way around, Cas.”

Cas beams at him and Dean basks in the warmth of that gummy smile, so rarely seen on the snarky hockey player.

They spend the next minute just looking at one another, taking one another in anew.  It’s like seeing Cas again for the first time and the experience is a little surreal.  How can someone he knows so well, for so long, seem suddenly brand new? 

“Dean,” Cas begins hesitantly, “Come home with me?”

Dean takes a step back and rubs the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s nervous.  Seeing the hurt look on Cas’ face at the sudden distance between them, he rushes to explain.

“It’s not that I don’t want to.  It’s just, isn’t that too fast?  I mean, I don’t really want this to be a one-night-stand kind of thing, Cas.”  Dean looks down, feeling vulnerable and exposed, heart pounding in his chest.  _Fuck._   This thing with Cas just _finally_ got started and already Dean’s fucked it up.

“Who said anything about a one-night-stand?”

Dean lifts his head at Cas’ voice, face painted with relief.

“I’d just really like to kiss you somewhere that _wasn’t_ full of our sweaty, naked teammates an hour ago,” Cas explains, “and as for being ‘too fast,’ we’ve been friends for four years Dean.  I’ve loved you for at least half that time and I’ve wanted you since approximately the second time I met you.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to beam.  _Loved him?_   Cas _loves him?_   Well, that’s mighty convenient since Dean’s pretty sure he’s in love with Cas too.

“Just since the _second_ time we met?” he asks, still trying to wrap his head around the big L-word revelation.  “Why not the first time?”

Cas shrugs, “You were an ass.”

Dean belts out a surprised laugh.  Cas is right though.  He _was_ an ass that day.  He’d been bitter that Cas was replacing his friend Victor as their starting left winger and he’d been determined to hate the guy on principle.  Then he’d seen Cas skate. 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean nods, then adds, “And yes, Cas, I’ll come home with you.”

Cas steps back into Dean’s space with a mischievous grin and leans in to whisper in his ear, “Good, because making out with you in a locker room is one thing, but I’d really like the first time you fuck me to be in a bed.”

Dean freezes for a moment, forgetting how to even fucking _breathe_ , then spins Cas around by his shoulders and shoves the man toward the locker room door.

Cas laughs and throws Dean a coy look over his shoulder, “But if you still think this is ‘too fast’ Dean, we could just go out for coffee instead.  Maybe hold hands a little.  I could walk you to your door and not ask to come in.”

“Asshole,” Dean grumbles affectionately.

They pick up their discarded bags outside of the locker room and keep their distance as they leave the arena.  This is _hockey_ after all.  The sport’s not exactly known for its acceptance of same-sex relationships.  They take separate cars to Cas’ Georgetown apartment, for which Dean is kind of grateful.  He can feel the tension mounting enough with Cas driving in front of him.  It would be unbearable if the man was sitting 3 feet away from him instead.

Cas doesn’t waste any time once he finally has Dean inside his apartment.  As soon as the door closes, Dean finds himself pressed up against it, Cas’ tongue hot and heavy in his mouth.  This is another new kind of kiss for them.  One in a line-up of hundreds and Dean is looking forward to cataloguing them all.  Cas kisses him with an intensity that Dean’s familiar with from 4 years spent watching the man on the ice.  Deep and determined, this kiss is clearly building toward something, but it lacks the frantic desperation of the locker room.  It’s Cas’ most confident kiss yet, the man carefully taking Dean apart with each measured flick of his tongue, and it lights a fire inside the other hockey player.

Hands firm on Cas’ hips, he pushes forward and steers the man deeper into the apartment, only stopping when their way is impeded by the back of the living room sofa.  Opening his mouth wider and plunging his tongue inside Cas’ mouth, Dean amps up the urgency in their kiss.  Dean _wants_ , he _needs,_ and he _takes._ He plunders Cas’ mouth, alternating between licking inside and pulling back to nip at the man’s shiny, kiss-abused lips.  Cas moans deeply at a particularly hard nip and his fingers tighten where they’re fisted in Dean’s button-up.

“Bedroom,” Cas gasps out, breaking away from Dean to pull the man down the hall by his shirt.  Having not even taken the time to turn on a light, they stumble blindly through the darkened apartment.  It’s a good thing Cas is neater than Dean, otherwise they probably would have tripped over something by now.  Once they reach the bedroom, Cas pulls away.  At Dean’s very manly, definitely-not-a-whimper, he chuckles.

“Need to see you,” he explains, turning on the bedside lamp.

Dean stares.  The dim lamplight reveals a disheveled and wantonly rumpled Castiel.  His hair is in disarray, looking windswept and twisted where Dean’s fingers have found their way into the strands.  His face is flushed, cheeks red with stubble-burn and desire, lips puffy and glistening, eyes bright and pupils blown.  One side of his white button-up has come untucked from his slacks, which are wrinkled in the legs, but tellingly taut in the crotch.  Dean feels his own dick twitch in his jeans at the sight of Cas’ cock straining against his zippered slacks.

After a moment, Dean’s brain catches up and he recalls Cas’ words.  Cas wants to see him, huh?  Well, maybe Dean should give him something to see then.  Eyes locked on Cas, Dean slowly unbuttons his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders and letting it gather at his elbows before dropping his arms and allowing it to fall to the floor. 

Cas’ eyes track the movement in a way that’s almost predatory and he licks his lips before starting to unbutton his own shirt.  Dean watches in wonder as firm, tanned pecs and hard, sculpted abs are revealed when Cas’ button-up joins Dean’s on the floor.  He’s seen Cas undress hundreds of times before and after games and practices, but it’s never been like this.  Always before, he’s had to avert his gaze, avoiding any lingering or appreciative glances.  He’s never had permission to just _look_ before and now that he does, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look his fill.  He stares openly and unabashedly for a moment, reveling in the feeling of Cas’ equally heated gaze on his own body, but when Cas moves to unbuckle his belt, Dean stops him with a raised hand. 

He reaches out and draws the hockey player to him, hooking a hand in the man’s waistband and hauling him forward.  Cas comes willingly and reclaims Dean’s lips as Dean takes over where he’d left off, unfastening the belt around Cas’ waist and drawing it slowly out from the belt loops, before tossing it carelessly onto the growing pile of their discarded clothing.  He unfastens Cas’ pants and follows them to the floor, now eye level with maroon boxer-briefs that are the only thing between him and what looks to be a pretty impressive erection.  He hears Cas gasp and looks up at the man, who stares down at Dean with an expression of awe.  The adoration on Cas’ face makes Dean’s flare with heat, but he holds Cas’ eyes as he begins to mouth at the man’s erection through the fabric.  Cas moans and Dean continues to suck and lick at his best friend’s cock where it strains against his underwear, the cotton turning an even darker red as it’s wet with a mixture of saliva and precome.  Eventually the head makes its way through the slit in Cas’ briefs and Dean takes it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it once before giving it a hard suck.  Cas lets out a shout and fists one hand in Dean’s hair, reaching behind himself for the edge of the bed with the other. 

Dean chuckles and finally eases Cas’ boxer briefs down, mindful of his erection, now extra-sensitive thanks to Dean’s ministrations.  Hands on Cas’ thighs, he presses the man down onto the edge of the bed, spreading Cas’ legs to give himself more room.  Shuffling forward to kneel between his teammate’s spread thighs, Dean takes the man into his mouth.  Cas is indeed impressively hung, longer than Dean if not as thick, and Dean works what he can’t fit in his mouth with his hand.  His bobbing head and moving hand work in tandem, quickly drawing Cas closer to the edge.  When Dean brings up his other hand to fondle the man’s balls, Cas pulls him off with the hand still clamped in Dean’s hair.

“Dean,” he says warningly, but Dean is already moving, climbing up over Cas and pushing the man backward.  Cas slides up the bed, falling back against the pillows and pulling Dean with him.  Long and deep, he kisses Cas again, before moving to suck a mark into his teammate’s neck.  He grins against Cas’ hot, reddened skin.  When their team boards the flight for Anaheim tomorrow, they’ll all see the bruise.  _They_ won’t know who left it there of course, but Dean will.. and so will Cas.  Dean knows they probably won’t get the chance for any _alone_ time while they’re traveling for the next few weeks and the thought of having that secret connection with his teammate and best friend, a visible reminder of their first night together, sends a thrill through Dean’s core.  He presses his mouth back to Cas’ skin, deepening the blooming mark, and Cas groans, hands scrabbling for Dean’s belt. 

Once Cas has Dean’s belt and jeans unfastened, Dean reaches to help push the pants and boxers down and off his legs.  He slots himself back against Cas and both men groan as their erections come together for the first time.   They spend a long moment just rutting and sliding against one another and _fuck,_ Dean could come just like this and not be sorry.  The idea is tempting, but Cas had mentioned something about Dean fucking him and the thought of Cas still feeling him tomorrow as they sit on that plane sends an even bigger thrill through Dean than the hickey fantasy.  Cas must be thinking along the same line, because he begins fumbling one-handed in the nightstand drawer, eventually pulling out a bottle of lube and string of condoms, both of which he pushes at Dean.

Sitting the condoms to the side for now, Dean flicks open the tube of Astroglide and slides off Cas to lie next to the man, wanting to be able to still kiss him while he opens him up.  Speaking of, he leans in to kiss Cas deeply, slicking up two of his fingers while doing so.  Trailing his fingers down between Cas’ spread legs, Dean finds his entrance and runs the pads of his fingers over it, pressing gently, but not pushing in.  Cas moans into Dean’s mouth and Dean teases his rim for another minute before sliding a single finger into the heat of Cas’ body. 

Cas breaks their kiss to drop his head back against the pillows and Dean lets him go, watching in fascination as the man falls apart beneath him.  Cas pants, eyes closed, as Dean slides one finger in and out of that tight heat.  When Dean adds a second finger and begins scissoring Cas open, the man writhes and bucks against Dean’s hand, mouth open in a silent, “O.”  By the time Dean is rocking 3 fingers in and out of Cas’ body, Cas is rocking with him, moaning and nearly sobbing with an arm thrown over his face, blocking his eyes, but Dean can tell he’s still holding back.  He learns exactly what when he crooks his fingers and finds Cas’ sweet spot, triggering an onslaught of nearly incoherent babbling, the man’s hand pulling at his own hair this time.

“Dean, there.  Fuck, right there Dean.  Want more.  Please, Dean.  Want you.  Need you,” the words keep coming as Dean makes sure to graze Cas’ prostate on every third thrust of his fingers.  It’s enough to tease Cas, but not even close to what Dean knows the man really wants. 

Eventually, patience seemingly at and end, Cas growls out a sharp, “Dean!” 

Dean finally stills his hand.  His best friend has a long memory and Dean’s transgressions here are likely to be paid back in full at the next opportunity.

Grabbing a tissue from the box on the night stand, Dean wipes his hand before opening one of the condoms and rolling it onto his neglected cock.  Cas’ slightly glazed eyes zero in on Dean’s cock and he seems to focus, reaching for it with hungry eyes. 

Dean catches his hand, “Shh, not this time, Baby,” he says gently.  Truth be told, as much as he’d like to feel Cas’ hand on his cock, he’s far too close to risk that right now.  This isn’t going to last long as it is and if he’s going to make it any kind of good for Cas, he can’t afford to get any more worked up.  He moves to sit up, but Cas stops him with a hand on his chest. 

Pressing Dean down onto his back, Cas climbs to his knees, leaning over to place a chaste kiss against the center’s lips that’s seemingly incongruous with what they’re about to do, but creates a warmth in Dean’s chest that has nothing to do with the arousal simmering low in his belly _._   With Dean still a little dazed by the innocence and sweetness of that kiss, Cas straddles his hips and lines himself up with Dean’s cock before sinking down.  Dean hisses and Cas groans as their bodies slowly come together.  Cas curls himself forward over Dean’s body for a moment as he adjusts to the feeling of Dean inside him, before beginning to rock against Dean.  He moves slowly at first, alternating between slow rolls of his hips and sinuous, grinding figure-eights.  The motions are sensuous, but not urgent; Cas exploring Dean’s body, learning what feels good to them both.  Dean moans leisurely, enjoying the sensations and never wanting this feeling to end.

Soon enough, Cas’ pace begins to quicken.  He starts bouncing on Dean’s cock, punching a strangled moan out of Dean as the man fights down his building orgasm.  When that’s no longer enough for Cas, the man plants his hands on Dean’s chest to give himself leverage, then lifts up and plunges back down, impaling himself repeatedly on Dean’s cock.  Dean groans in earnest now, running his hands up and down Cas’ sides, dragging his blunt nails down the man’s rib cage and pulling a low moan out of him. 

When Dean rolls his hips up to meet Cas, the man cries out and suddenly leans back to change the angle, stretching out and dropping his head and shoulders back, resting his hands on the tops of Dean’s thighs behind him.  The view this gives Dean is incredible.  Cas’ torso is one long, lean line of taut muscle, glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his hard cock jutting out proudly from his body, the expression on his face one of pure ecstasy.  Dean feels a familiar heat coiling low in his belly and he reaches for Cas’ cock.  Cas keeps rocking down against Dean as Dean strokes him, continuing to roll his hips and loving the effect it has on the man above him.  When Cas tries to move to a position that will allow him to speed up his movements again, Dean stops him.  He can’t take much more and he’s not ready to come yet.  Plus, Cas is so goddamn beautiful like this.

“No, stay like this.  Wanna see you come just like this, Baby.  Christ, if you only knew how you look right now, Cas.  So goddamn beautiful.  So perfect for me.” 

“Oh, _fuck_ Dean,” Cas lets out a bone-deep moan and paints Dean’s chest with his come.  Slumping forward, his lips meet Dean’s in a desperate kiss and now Dean bends his knees and plants his feet, giving him leverage to drive up into Cas’ heat.  Cas moans at the assault on his over-sensitive prostate and kisses Dean harder, before bracing his hands against Dean’s shoulders and pushing himself backward to meet Dean’s thrusts.  Dean pistons into Cas feverishly, chasing his release.  He finds it only moments later, shuddering and filling the condom.

Cas sighs contentedly as he rolls off Dean to collapse on his back.  Both men lie there, the room silent except for their sated panting as they come down from their orgasms.  Then Cas rolls to his side and carefully removes the come-filled condom from Dean’s spent dick before tying it off.  Despite what they just spent the last hour doing, Dean blushes at the intimacy of the gesture and Cas flashes him a knowing smirk before disappearing from the room.  He returns a moment later with a washcloth that he uses to gently clean the come from Dean’s chest and stomach.  As he pulls away to dispose of the washcloth, Dean catches the fingers of his free hand and places a soft kiss there, earning a warm and adoring smile in reward.  If Dean had doubted Cas’ earlier assurances that this wouldn’t be a one-time thing between them, he’d be certain now. 

Cas climbs back onto the bed and curls up against Dean’s side, his head on Dean’s chest.

“Was that..”

“Everything I’ve dreamed of for the past four years and more?  Yeah,” Dean cuts in.

“Good,” Dean feels Cas’ grin against his chest, “You were okay, I guess.”

“Asshole,” Dean chuckles, pinching Cas’ naked side where his arm is wrapped around the hockey player.

“I’m really glad you finally decided to make a move though.  Who knows if we’d have ever gotten here otherwise,” he adds.

At this, Cas rolls onto his stomach and slots himself between Dean’s legs, so they’re lying chest to chest.  He pushes himself up to meet Dean’s eyes when he says, “I really didn’t though, you know.”

Dean wrinkles his brow in confusion, “Didn’t what?”

“Make a move,” Cas clarifies. “I was actually just fucking with you with that whole ‘Are you criticizing my kissing,’ thing.  I was annoyed that you were so obviously lying about that kiss on the cheek making you uncomfortable earlier _and_ that you were being such a dick about it,” he rolls his eyes, “so I decided to give you a taste of your own medicine.”

At Dean’s slack-jawed expression, he smirks and continues, “I expected you to get flustered and back away in a panic.”  Cocking an eyebrow, he adds, “I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised by your reaction.”

Dean drops his head back and roars with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes as he pulls himself together, “God, you really are an asshole.”

Cas just smiles broadly and catches Dean’s lips in another long kiss.

***

**One and half years later..**

They’ve managed to keep their relationship a secret so far, but the strain is starting to wear on them both.  Stolen kisses and hidden touches have lost their novelty, as have the constant teasing comments from their teammates about the identities of their, “mystery women.” 

Not being able to go on public dates, hold hands as they walk down the street, or reach for each other in moments of joy or distress, just because someone _might_ see, weighs on them.  They’ve already had one anniversary pass in secret and with a second looming on the horizon, they draw closer to the conversation they’ve both been avoiding.  It’s all of these things and a hundred more that bring the discussion to its inevitable conclusion at the beginning of their sixth season playing together for the Caps.

It’s only the second game of the season, but rumors are already rampant that the team’s new owner, Fergus Crowley, plans to “shake-up” his starting line-up at the end of the season by trading his left wing.  A trade could land Cas anywhere in the country.  It’s hard enough finding time for a relationship when they’re in the same city, playing for the same team.  There’s no way they’ll be able to manage it if Cas leaves DC.

“Are you sure about this, Dean?”

“I mean, I want to say no, Cas.  A part of me can’t help but think that we could have years still, but.. I just don’t see any other way.  We just can’t make this work with you in Dallas, or Detroit, or fucking Montreal.”

“I know, but Dean..”

“Don’t Cas.  Just don’t.  We’ve been over this.”

“Okay, Dean.”

“Okay.”

***

Crowley is apoplectic when they tell him.

“RETIRING!”  The small man’s face burns red with fury.  “You’re telling me that _two thirds_ of my forward starting line-up, who are at the height of their goddamn prime, are planning to bloody _retire_ at the end of the season?  WHY?”

“Why do you care?” Dean scoffs.  “Rumor is you’re planning to trade one of us at the end of the season anyway.”

“What the bloody hell does that matter?” Crowley looks at them with total incredulity.  “Team loyalty is commendable and all boys, but that’s the way the sport works!  Players get traded.  They don’t run home to cry to their mammies about it and they SURE AS HELL DON’T BLOODY GODDAMN RETIRE!”

**“** It’s not the team we’re being loyal to,” counters Castiel calmly. 

Crowley looks between them, uncomprehending, but slowly, understanding dawns.

“Oh, _fucking hell,”_ he groans.  “You’re telling me that both of you bloody wankers are willing to give up a brilliant, not to mention lucrative, career for a hairy chest and tight ass?” 

Turning to Cas, he adds, “Believe me, I understand the appeal, but Castiel, they make queer men in Anaheim and Chicago too.. Minnesota might be a problem,” he concedes after a pause.

Cas narrows his eyes, “ _Dean’s_ not in Anaheim or Chicago.  And if the choice is hockey or Dean, I choose Dean.”

“How romantic,” Crowley responds drily.

The small British man rails at them for another twenty minutes, but eventually he seems to realize that he isn’t going to change their minds.  That, or he runs out of insults, Dean’s not sure.  Instead, he switches gears and tries to figure out a way to spin the situation to his advantage, deciding to promote Dean and Cas as the sport’s first openly gay couple. 

Dean interrupts Crowley’s ramblings about interviews and magazines (did he say _billboards_?), “Hey, I didn’t sign up to be in the spotlight as some inspirational gay role model.  This is our life, not a goddamn afterschool special.”

“Oh, but you did, Winchester,” insists Crowley, “whether you like it or not.  The moment you stick your little pinky toe out of that big gay closet you’ve been living in, you’ll become the bloody rainbow-striped role model for every young lad with a hockey stick whose ever found himself staring at his teammate’s bare ass in the showers for a little too long.”

Dean’s jaw clicks shut.  Crowley’s an absolute _ass_ , but he’s right.  This is going to throw him into a spotlight bigger and far more daunting than anything he’s done in his career as a hockey player.

“Unless, of course, you’d like to reconsider,” the British bastard finishes smoothly.

Steeling his resolve, Dean looks over at his boyfriend, who’s watching him stoically, seemingly awaiting his decision.

“Nah,” he says, looking back at Crowley. 

“I choose Cas.”

***

**About a year after that..**

Dean leans back in his seat and takes in the sights and sounds of the buzzing arena.  It’s the Cap’s opening game of the season and it’s the first one Dean hasn’t been on the ice for in almost 10 years.  It feels like it’s been such a long road to get here, since that day in Crowley’s office a year ago when he and Cas had first announced their decision to retire together. 

There had been some really difficult days after that.  Coming out is never a smooth or easy process for a professional athlete and it was unheard of in the world of hockey.  The ignorance and bigotry they’d been bombarded with had been expected, but were no less heartbreaking for it. 

What had really surprised them though, was the amount of acceptance from their hometown.  DC had a thriving LGBTQIA+ community and they’d rallied and claimed the “gay hockey players” as their own.  Dean had been shocked when he looked up into the crowd at the beginning of that first home game after he and Cas had made their announcement.  He’d spent the days since their press conference feeling overwhelmed and beaten down by the blatantly homophobic attacks that just seemed to keep coming from every direction:  fans, sportscasters, even some of their own teammates.  Walker, unsurprisingly, had been especially insufferable until Gabe had “accidentally” tripped him with his hockey stick in the middle of a game.  “Whoa, good thing you’re geared up there Gordy.  I’d _hate_ to see what this thing could do to kneecaps that _aren’t_ covered in padding,” he’d said, not looking like he’d hate it at all.   

As he’d sat there wondering how he was going to play with his skates weighed down by all the hatred and contempt seeming to surround him these days, Dean had looked up to see _dozens_ of rainbow Pride flags waving in the stands, a number that increased with every game.  Those flags gave Dean the courage he needed to step onto the ice that day and not only play, but score 3 goals, leading the Caps to victory and Dean to the most successful season of his career. 

There were other positives too, of course.  Three more professional athletes came out in the months following Dean and Cas revealing their relationship and countless fans and young queer athletes shared stories about how the couple’s experience had affected them.  They were stories of fear, pain, love, and hope; each one powerful and important. 

Equally important for Dean and Cas though, were the benefits their decision brought to their lives off the ice.  They held hands walking down the street, went on dates that were obviously dates, and sometimes Dean kissed Cas outside his apartment just because he could, even though he actually stayed at Cas’ apartment more than his own these days.  Of course, it wouldn’t _be_ Cas’ apartment for much longer.  Living together was something else made possible by taking their relationship public and instead of continuing to rent in the city, they were buying a house together in the suburb of Alexandria; a house, with four bedrooms and a big yard.  The kind of house they could raise a family in someday.

Feeling a hand squeeze his knee, Dean glances over to see Cas watching him carefully.

“Okay?” his boyfriend asks.

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, “Just thinking about the past year, you know?”

Cas nods.  He does know.  They don’t get the chance to talk about it further, however, because the game’s started and they’re both quickly caught up it: cheering successful plays, bemoaning failed ones, and arguing over how _they_ would have done it differently. 

More quickly than Dean expected, the first period is over and it’s intermission.  Dean grins and glances down at the bullpen, remembering the little kiss on the cheek that started it all.  He’s still lost in memory, when he hears the familiar chorus.

_Is it in his eyes, oh no, you’ll be deceived_

_Is it in his eyes, oh no, you’ll make believe_

_If you want to know, if he loves you so_

_It’s in his kiss_

“Hey,” he protests, “Did they give away my song?”  Dean casts accusing eyes up at the Jumbotron.. and sees himself on the screen with Cas sitting next to him, looking at Dean expectantly and _holding a ring_.  Eyes wide, he turns in his seat to face Cas.

“Marry me?”

Dean doesn’t hesitate this time.  He stands, pulling Cas to his feet and cupping the man’s grinning face in his hands before bringing their lips together. 

He doesn’t need words to answer Cas. 

It’s in his kiss.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading everyone!
> 
> Also, I don't know if it counts as a head canon when it's your own fic, but in my head, Charlie is the mysterious "Kiss-Cam-Operator-in-the-Sky," and the entire Dean-kissing-fans gimmick was actually a devious ploy to create a precedent for he and Cas to kiss, because Charlie's been watching these two love-sick idiots skate around one another for the past two years and enough is enough already!
> 
> If you'd like to reblog this fic, the Tumblr post is here:  <https://a-mandala-rose.tumblr.com/post/184179306694/iihk>


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